Page 2 of Ties of Frost

Every ten years, the Dawning Festival commemorated Emperor Syrzin’s defeat of Ascadrion and the birth of the empire. While the Festival was celebrated across the continent, over half of the roughly three hundred rengiri came to Laedresh. For today, the final day, one rengir would be awarded the Emperor’s Merit.

The Merit had been my dream since I was accepted into Harcos Academy seventeen years ago. Maybe if the medallion hung from my neck, I would finally feel like I had proven myself and redeemed my people. My mother would see that being a rengir wasn’t a waste of my power,but the best use of it, and she would finally concede that my being a rengir honored my people. I’d be seen as equal to my younger sister. Or at least equal to my much older brother, who bred and trained hyzli, the gangly, wolf-hunting sighthounds coveted across the empire.

When I held the Merit in my hands, no one would question my motives as a wyveri. My family’s praise would no longer be thinly disguised condemnation, full of hints that I could do better.

I tried to rein in my daydreams. I was probably too young, anyway. The youngest rengir to ever earn the Merit had been a human at age thirty-seven. Due to shifters’ longer lifespans and slower maturation, my own seventy years was younger still, around thirty human years. I still had well over a century of service ahead of me—

“Touched by Zidra herself!”

My name jerked me out of my reverie. A seller beckoned passersby closer to a cart bedecked in colorful ribbons.

“Relics from great rengiri, sure to bring the blessings of Iskyr upon you!” The man—likely a half-human forest elf based on his coppery skin, vibrant green eyes, and shorter, more subtly pointed ears—held up a bowl. “This washbasin was used by the magnificent duo Kyrmaris after they killed the Serpent of Tullong. The blessed blood of holy warriors was cleansed in this bowl!”

Dragon fire stirred in my veins. It wasn’t unusual for charlatans to make money selling rengir relics—body parts of long-dead heroes of the Order, as well as clothing worn or items used by rengiri living and deceased. While somerelics held divine blessings, those were carefully guarded in sanctuaries. Street peddlers’ relics were of questionable provenance and power, and I could hardly believe this seller was so crass as to sell possibly fake relics during the Festival.

That, however, was not what angered me. Even fake relics could comfort those who purchased them, and the practice wasn’t illegal unless it could be proved the seller was lying—which was difficult. I didn’t recognize the bowl, but washbasins weren’t memorable.

No, what made my fangs grow was that awful name: Kyrmaris. A combination of Zidra Eilmaris and Kyrundar Ilifir—the name of my archrival. No, my nemesis. He had an irritating habit of getting himself involved in my missions. Storytellers and bards referring to us as a unit with a single, shared moniker, as if weintendedto work together so often, was the sour milk in the bitter tea of our unfortunate continued acquaintance.

I forced my feet onward. I shouldn’t care. A rengir wasn’t supposed to crave glory.

But how was I supposed to earn the Emperor’s Merit when that ice elf kept taking partial credit for my successes? We’d trained together at Harcos Academy, and he’d been annoying then, but he was worse now. Women constantly flirted with him, and he leveraged my reputation to bolster his own. We didn’t even work together as often as the stories of “Kyrmaris” made it sound. Did we? Surely not.

Why was it part of his first name and part of my last name, anyway? Illogical, and it grated on me that his namecame first. No one else cared. The accursed team name had stuck.

If I could get through the Ceremony without seeing Kyrundar, I’d be thrilled.Wait—the Ceremony!

I broke into a jog and soon reached the towering walls surrounding the city-within-a-city that was the imperial palace. I fished an oval pin the length of my forefinger from my thigh bag and pinned it on my shoulder. The pin featured an inlay of reddish sequoia wood. Set into the wood was a gold sword surrounded by flames of silver—the symbol of the Order.

I joined a short line of other rengiri at a side entrance. At least I wasn’t late. Inside, the rengiri gathered in a marble plaza. Hundreds of wide steps rose from the plaza to the sprawling palace with its gleaming limestone columns and red-tiled roofs.

Rengiri trickled in, some from the crowds packed into the lawns that ran half a league to the main gate. Citizens fawned over them, flirtatious men and women pouting as the objects of their affections extricated themselves and passed the imperial guards to stand in the plaza. I spotted several I knew and had done missions with.

A willowy forest elf woman with light-bronze skin and silky dark hair caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back at Archon Aekyrdra, the leader of the Order. Her smile seemed encouraging, but even she didn’t know who the emperor had chosen.

On a spacious landing halfway up the stairs, a podium stood between two ten-foot-tall crimson banners featuringthe Order insignia in gold and silver thread. Trumpeters waited on the far edges of the landing.

Movement at the top of the staircase drew my attention. A tall light elf man with sparkling gold earrings emerged from the colonnade carrying a wide, shallow box. The trumpeters bugled. An expectant hush fell over the rengiri and the throng of citizens.

Vivid blue robes swirled around the ankles of the Grand Marshal of Imperial Events as he descended the long flight of stairs to the landing. The box he held was larger than made sense. Had the emperor changed the shape of the medallion? Tossing aside over one thousand years of tradition wasn’t very elven.

The light elf emperors had kept the Laedreshian Empire intact in part because elves, who lived the longest of the three races, had a healthy respect for convention and stability. Then again, Valesiart was a mere eighty-five years old, barely an adult. An elf that young might be tempted to break a minor tradition.

The Grand Marshal set the box on the podium and picked up a bronze bullhorn. He spoke into the narrow mouthpiece, and his voice, magnified by the magic poured into the bullhorn by a metalmage, roared over the palace lawns.

“Today we gather to recognize the virtue and feats of our noble rengiri!”

The crowds roared their approval. My heart swelled. Our vows said we weren’t to bearrogant. Pride in one’s work and life wasn’t arrogance.

“While we honor all rengiri,” the Marshal continued, “the Emperor’s Merit allows us to recognize the most active, fearsome, and noble member of our great protectors. For the last decade, imperial scribes have watched and listened. The rulers of the human kingdoms, elven kingdoms, and shifter nations have passed on their recommendations.”

The wyveri queen would have asked the clan matriarchs for their input. Had my mother suggested me? Had she declined to answer? I wiped my clammy hands on my trousers.

“Noble patrons have given their opinions on which warriors are the most selfless, powerful, wise, and victorious. For the last several months, scribes have traveled the empire, collecting tales from bards and testimonies from cities and villages.”

Internally, I scoffed. Bards were notorious for embellishing their tales. The more dramatic the story, the better they were paid. Nobles who opened their homes to rengiri paid lip service to honoring Iskyr and to the values of humble service and selfless giving, but many craved the acclaim and power that came with having rengiri as friends. While rengiri were to serve all people without favoritism, there was an implicit understanding that rengiri would give their hosts’ lands extra protection.

It was why I refused to stay in anyone’s home. I’d sleep outside if a Haven wasn’t available.

---